


Pee-Wee League

by Superstition_hockey



Series: Depth on the Bench [18]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Family, Kid Fic, M/M, Not So Easy Sunday Morning, Siblings, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15998597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstition_hockey/pseuds/Superstition_hockey
Summary: The crash is followed by a half a second of perfect silence and then an ear piercing wail, a babble of high pitched voices at increasing octaves, and then a herd of feet stampeding up the stairs.“Crisse de fucking calisse,” Luc hisses and tries to will his erection away, counting down the seconds.  4…3…2…1:





	Pee-Wee League

**Author's Note:**

> You guys are probably tired of "Luc and Jacks as Olds with kids" fluff, but, like, my life is a ball of anxiety, so.... have some fluff. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also, like, if you think about the math, this story probably happens somewhere between the years 2045-2050. Thinking about what the world is going to be like makes me panic -- will we all have solar powered homes and friendly AIs and space exploration on Mars? Will we be rubbing two sticks together to try to make fire in a cave during a nuclear winter? Thinking about it gives me hives. So, here's an unrealistic future where everything is exactly the same (except you know, less shitty that it is *right now*) but you don't need to wet your nose before you apply Biore pore strips. Scientific Progress!

Luc wakes up hard, dick straining against his boxers, trapped between his body and Jacks. He kisses Jacks’ shoulder, sleep warm and enticing, and Jacks hums and moves his arm. He’s putting down his phone -- so he was already awake. But still in bed. He’s been lying there, waiting for Luc to wake up. 

Luc is so getting laid this morning. 

Luc shifts the arm that’s draped over Jacks, moves his hand to squeeze Jacks’ pec appreciatively and Jacks murmurs, “Good morning,” and grinds his ass against Luc’s hard-on. 

Luc gives Jacks another squeeze then trails his hand down, just skimming over Jacks’ abs, grazing his fingers through the happy trail leading down to his boxers, when there’s suddenly a tremendous shattering crash from downstairs. The crash is followed by a half a second of perfect silence and then an ear piercing wail, a babble of high pitched voices at increasing octaves, and then a herd of feet stampeding up the stairs.

“Crisse de fucking calisse,” Luc hisses and tries to will his erection away, counting down the seconds. 4… 3… 2…1:

“PAPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

“DADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Did too!”

“Mavs won’t stop _crying_.” 

“That’s because you dropped--”

“Hey!” Luc says, pulling the blanket up around his waist as he sits up, “One at a time.”

Bells drops the youngest, red-faced and crying, onto the bed next to them. 

“Bells, sweetheart, what happened?”

“Well, first of all Hank is _the worst_ and he forgot and left the backdoor open and a chicken got on top of the fridge.”

“You _promised_ you wouldn’t tell.” Hank elbows her.

Bells glares at him and then continues, taking a giant breath first like she’s really gearing herself up for a grade A rant. “And then he tried to lift up Mavs to reach the chicken because he’s _not tall enough_ to reach himself--”

“You're one to talk, shrimp, I’m twice as tall as you.”  
“And _then_ ,” Bells ignores him, “the chicken flew off and landed on the light in the kitchen and then Hank put Mavs on his shoulders and then Mavs missed with the broom and it got stuck in the chain thing and I _told_ them that they’re being dumb boys but _no one_ listened to me, and then the chicken, it was Pauline, flew at Hank and then they all fell over and then the light got pulled out of the ceiling by the broom, and it fell down and made a big crash and then the broom and the stool went through the door, and now there’s glass everywhere and my FOOT is _bleeding_.”

Luc and Jacks’ eyes both immediately drop to her feet but as far as Luc can tell they look fine. 

Hank glares at her. “Uncle Sergei says < _snitches get stiches_ >” he hisses, dropping the phrase in English. 

“Yes, well, your Uncle Sergei has a special kind of humor,” Luc mutters. 

Mavs, who’s stopped crying while curled up against Jacks’ side, takes his thumb out of his mouth to say, “What’s stitches?”

Hank gives him a pitying look, “You are such a baby. You’ve had stitches. Remember when you fell off the coffee table and busted your chin? The little black things in your face.”

Mavs starts crying again. 

Jacks is a world class playmaker so he passes Mavs off to Luc. “I’ll take clean-up downstairs if you’ll take this one and look at Bells’ foot?”

“Best plays.” Luc sighs and gets out of bed. “Come on, baby-bros, I got Spider-Man band-aids and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bandaids.” 

“Are you going to have to use alcohol on it?” Bells asks, worried, at the same time Jacks tells Hank, “And you’re coming with me to clean up the mess you made, bud.” 

Luc is so _not_ getting laid today. 

 

 

Luc sets Mavs down on the counter next to the bathroom sink and then, because Bells might be getting a little old for it, but she’s his baby girl, he picks her up, too. “Okay, where’s this terrible war wound?” 

Bells wiggles the toes on her right foot at him. Despite the fact that she bathed last night and that it’s not even 7 am yet, her feet are somehow already filthy. There is one tiny little slightly red spot on the pad of her big toe. 

“Were you running around barefoot this morning?”

Bells just hums and says, “I want a Donatello bandaid please.”

Luc hands her the box. “We might be all out, you might have to have a Michaelangelo one,” he teases. 

Bells sniffs disdainfully and goes rooting through the box to find a purple one. 

Luc gets her to turn around so her feet are in the sink, washes them, then turns on the flashlight on his phone and shines it at the spot on her toe in all angles to see if he sees any glint of glass. When he doesn’t see anything, he rubs his thumb over it, not feeling anything either, and then asks, “You don’t feel any glass in there, do you?”

“No,” she says and holds up a purple band aid triumphantly. Luc gives her a fistbump, then put a tiny dab of neosporin on her toe, and applies the band-aid. It won’t last more than 30 minutes on the bottom of her foot like that, but that’s not really the point. He gives her toe a big theatrical kiss and she grins at him. 

“What about you, big guy?” Luc asks turning his attention to Mavs.

Mavs takes his thumb out of his mouth again, regards Luc solemnly, and then asks, “What's snitches?”

 

 

Luc makes Bells put on real shoes then sends them both downstairs to help Jacks while Luc takes a shower. 

He soaps up, washes his hair, rinses off then briefly ponders the merits of jerking off or not. Finally he just admits defeat, grabs the shower lube, squirts some in his hand and gets a hold of himself, trying to summon the ghost of arousal. He jerks off perfunctorily, rinses off again, puts on clothes and his Adidas slides, since the kitchen’s now a danger zone, and goes downstairs to start figuring out a breakfast plan that doesn’t involve broken glass. 

 

 

 

Jacks comes back with the kids from Canadian Tire and the grocery store harried-looking and tired. 

“How was it?” Luc asks. He’s stayed behind to finish getting up the rest of the glass from all the crevices and corners and waiting for the repair guys to come replace the glass in the backdoor. Luc and the glass replacing guys are basically old friends, at this stage. Luc has them on speed dial. 

“They’re _gremlins_ ,” Jacks shudders as the house explodes into noise again with his entrance. He hefts a bag up for Luc to see. “I got more stuff for sandwiches though.” 

Luc can barely hear him because Hank and Bells are bickering, again, Hank arguing something about being in the top five percentile of height for his age and the ceilings being _vaulted_ , and Mavs is telling no one in particular a story about a cat who plays hockey with a dinosaur. 

“For sure, buddy.” Luc nods at Mavs and ruffles his hair. “He sounds like a real beaut. Triceratops obviously make great D-men.” 

“Dad, Dad, Dad, did we get milk?”

“Yes,” Jacks says as he puts the bags down on the counter. 

“Dad, the Starbursts are for me right?”

“They’re for you all to _share_ after lunch.”

“Dad, did I leave my stickers in the car?”

“Hey,” Luc says in his best Coach voice because Jacks really is looking a little frayed around the edges, “go outside and practice faceoffs while your dad and I make lunch.”

Hank looks at Bells and Mavs skeptically. “Katya’s not here. Bells is _terrible_ at faceoffs.” 

“Your face is terrible,” Bells snaps. 

“Do we have to take Mavs?”

“Yes.” Luc says and hands him to Hank. 

“He’s a baby.”

“He’s old enough to practice his shots, so take him with you.” 

“But he’s a babbyyyyy.” 

“Outside,” Luc says and then, as they run outside, “Mavs is too young to play goalie!” he shouts after them. 

Hank groans loudly and dramatically. 

“I’m serious, Hank, don’t hit pucks at your little brother.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah.” 

 

When the door shuts behind them and the kitchen is finally, finally silent, Luc watches Jacks take a long breath. 

“That bad?” Luc asks in English. 

“Hank and Bells spent the entire time either fighting or pretending they weren’t fighting and _plotting_.” 

Luc laughs. He shouldn’t. Jacks looks exhausted, but these goddamn kids. 

“The 50 year old businessman in line in front of us dropped his phone, then caught it before it fell on the ground and Mavs smacked him on the ass and said ‘good game,’” Jacks continues.

“Oh fuck,” Luc laughs in shocked horror. “He didn’t.” 

“He did. He had to stand on his tippy toes to reach. It was _mortifying_.” 

“Oh shit,” Luc gasps into Jacks’ shoulder. “Oh my god.”

Jacks sighs. “We all had a nice long talk in the car ride home about the subtle and multivarious intraciousies of when it’s okay to slap someone’s butt and when it isn’t. Is there beer? Please tell me there’s beer.”

“There’s no beer, but I hear you got milk.”

Jacks groans.

“Dude, go take 15. Play some music. Lock a door. Find your zen. I’m gonna make sandwiches. You’re about due for a line change.” 

“Thank you.” Jacks sighs, smacks a kiss on Luc’s cheek, and goes upstairs. 

 

When Luc calls everyone in for lunch, there’s four kids at his table, not three, and yet Mavs is nowhere to be seen. 

“Hank, where is your brother? Vanya, what kind of sandwich do you want?” 

“He’s helping Yasha in the greenhouse. They’re picking peas.” 

“Roast beef.” 

“Vanya, what do we say? Henri-Philippe, we’ve talked about bothering Yasha when he’s working and with leaving Mavs places.”

“It was his idea.”

“Roast beef, _please_. With horseradish.”

Luc sighs. “Did you at least thank him?”

“Do you have ham?” Zhenya pipes up. 

“Yes, we have ham.” 

“ _Yes_ , I thanked him.” 

“Thank you,” Zhenya says sweetly.  
Bells is slowly, methodically, applying a layer of Cool Ranch Doritos between her roast beef and swiss. Luc is not even going to touch that, honestly. She looks up and says, “When is Katya coming home, boys are _tedious_.” 

“She’s going to be back just before dinner. Amelia’s mom texted to say they’d be dropping her off around six.” 

“Good,” Bells pronounces then takes a giant bite of her sandwich. Luc can hear the crunch of the Doritos. 

“Papa, can we call Sasha? Why hasn’t he called yet?” Hank asks. 

“Sasha?” Vanya and Zhenya both look up from their sandwiches and the Pokemon game they’re playing on their phones. Sasha, older, elusively far away, sarcastic and confident and in university already, is _infinitely cooler_ , in Vanya and Zhenya’s opinion, than anyone else in the family. 

“He normally calls around lunch time because England’s six hours ahead but he’s in New York right now so he’s gonna call around dinner,” Luc explains. 

Hank makes a face. Bells pouts and says, “If he’s in New York why isn’t he _here_?” 

“Because he’s doing press.” Luc explains, “but we’re going to see him as soon as school ends.”

“In New York?”

“No, in England.” 

“Are we going to watch his game???” Bell asks, putting down her sandwich. 

“They call them matches, but yes.” 

“And see Aunt Sveta?”

“Yes.”

“And Uncle Stick and Nat and Leonie???”

“Yes.” 

“Is he going to _win_?” 

Luc laughs. “Yes. Let’s hope so.” 

Hank nods solemnly. “Visualize.” 

“Exactly.” Luc nods and gives him a fist bump. 

 

It’s Crash that calls him on his phone just as everyone is finishing eating. 

“Hey, bro,” Luc answers, a little puzzled she didn't call over Skype. 

“I had some time so I thought I'd call and talk but I wanted to check in first, make sure I wasn’t catching everyone in the middle of something.” 

“You can call anytime, brah, you know that, but we're all good here, just finishing up lunch.”

“Yeah bro, I know that, I just… I've got a big gap before that surf-school thing in Maui and I was hoping to visit but I wanted to make sure you guys didn't have other plans already before I mentioned it to the kids.” 

“Oh, right on, hold up.” Luc takes a look at the Google calendar on the fridge display, and makes a series of eyebrow movements, and married people gestures at the calendar to Jacks, who's leaning against the counter eating a sandwich, silently conveying “Are we good with Crash coming in a week and staying till the end of the school year?” 

Jacks gives him a thumbs up, so Luc says, “Yeah, that works for us, that’d be awesome, bro, You’ll be here for the whole end of the year, which I know they’ll love.”

“Sweet, I'll hang up and call the house on Skype.”

“Give it five minutes and I’ll go get Mavs, he’s hanging in the greenhouses right now. You know Katya’s not here, right?”

“Yeah, I texted her, I’m gonna call her after I get done with you guys, have girl-talk.”

 

Luc makes Yasha a sandwich and walks out to the greenhouses bordering their property and Buddy and Yasha’s house next door, trades sandwich for a squirming lump of mischief, and gets back just in time for the little beeping Skype ringtone to echo through the living room. When the call comes in on the TV screen the house erupts into a series of shrieks. Bells yells “Mammmaaa!” and Hank shoves the entire last half of his second sandwich in his face before he bolts away from the table into the living room. Luc and Jacks stay back in the kitchen with Vanya and Zhenya, to give the kids some space with their mom, enjoying the relative peace and quiet. Jacks shifts a few millimeters from where he’s leaning against the counter so his shoulder knocks against Luc’s. Luc leans back into it. 

The kids are so hyped up about Crash visiting that Luc doesn’t think there’s going to be any containing them for the rest of the day. 

“I’m thinking we should get ‘em out of the house, try to get them tired enough that they’ll sleep tonight.” 

Jacks hums in agreement, and says, “If you take Vanya and Zhenya, too, they won’t all fit in the Range Rover.” 

Luc scrubs his hands through his hair, “We can take the G wagon and Hank and Vanya can sit in the jump seats in the back.” 

“Dibs on a jump seat.” Zhenya agrees, not looking up from Pokemon. 

 

“Hey,” Luc calls into the living room, later. Crash has long since hung up, and Bells is loading some movie onto the TV. “Don't turn the TV on, we’re going out.”

He cuts through the deluge of _wheres_ and _whens_ with “Skating or obstacle gym? Pick one.” The kids hockey season is over, as is Les Louves’, and the ‘diques went out in round 2 this year. So they’re just waiting to finish out the school year before they leave for the summer, but that just means ice time’s easier to get if they need it. 

“Skating,” Hank says immediately at the same time Bells says, “Obstacle gym!” 

Hank points at Mavs and says, “Mavs says ice skating too.” 

“He doesn’t vote with you automatically, Mavs loves climbing.” Bells gripes. 

“Look, my dudes,” Luc says, “pick one, and pick one that you’re both going to enjoy because if I hear one peep of whining when we’re wherever we wind up, we’re all going to go home.” 

Bells and Hank regard each other warily. 

“Can Vanya and Zhenya come too?”

“If they want to, and if it’s okay with their dads,” Luc replies. 

“The obstacle gym is fine,” Hanks concedes, “Mavs does like it, and I’ve going to power skating practice tomorrow after school anyway. Can Uncle Sergei bring Viktor?”

“And _Sofia_ ,” Bells interrupts.

“How about you call him from the car while we’re on the way and they can meet us there if they want?” Jacks answers.

 

 

In the car ride back to the house after a couple hours of watching his kids literally climb the walls, there are a rough total of 45 requests to stop at McDonalds. 

“Eat a granola bar.” Jacks says, 45 times, sprinkled intermittently with “We’re making dinner as soon as we get home, we’re not stopping for fast food.” And then, quietly, to Luc, in the front seat, “I would fucking murder someone right now for some french fries.” 

Luc laughs and grabs his hand. He kisses his knuckles, and then squeezes it fondly. 

“Gross,” Bells says but she’s smiling. “Dad, did you see how fast I climbed up the rope net?” 

“I did” Jacks says and reaches a hand back to give her a high five, “you were awesome.” Luc twists an arm around to give her a fist bump while not taking his eyes off the road. 

“I was faster than Hank.”

“You were _not_ faster than me.” Luc can hear where Hank kicks the back of her seat. 

“I was too.” She tosses her braid over her shoulder and glares at him. “Viktor timed it. I beat you by 0.3 seconds which is basically _forever_.”

“Viktor’s watch is broken.”

“It is _not_.”

Jacks laughs and looks over at Luc fondly. “Wow, I wonder where they get that from?”

“Oh, sure,” Luc grumbles and then, loudly, “I’m pretty sure I was the fastest up the rope net.” 

He gets a chorus of groans in response and Bells throwing a granola bar wrapper in his general direction even as Luc laughs at the way Jacks is shaking his head and grinning. 

 

 

 

Sunday night dinner is a thing. It didn’t start out as a thing. It’s not like Luc tried to make it a thing. But somehow it’s a thing. It’s a _loud_ thing, even in the hour leading up to it. It’s never fancy and with numbers that vary wildly sometimes it’s larger than others. Luc turns eight pounds of ground turkey into enough tacos to feed whoever shows up. Tonight dinner is all their own kids, of course, plus Buddy and Yasha from next door with Vanya and Zhenya and some kind of dessert involving meringue and rhubarb and strawberries. Sergei and Alex show up which doesn’t happen every Sunday but Alex is trying to give Zoe, Black Dolphin’s sous chef, more practice at autonomy since they all know Zoe will want to spread her wings and head her own restaurant soon. They bring Viktor and Sofia and a bowl of something delicious made mostly from veggies from Yasha’s garden. 

Katya comes home to a round of hugs and Bells’ dramatic pronouncement of “YOU’VE FINALLY RETURNED!"

Jacks asks, “Did you have fun with Amelia?” and Katya tells everyone… all the things that a group of 13 year old girls said within the space of 24 hours, complete with theatrical reenactments. 

Sasha calls in the middle of dinner and gets passed around in tablet form to talk to everyone.  
“Oh, man,” he says to Luc, “dinner looks great. I miss you guys. I wish I was there.” 

“You could _come here_.” Bells pouts from Luc’s elbow.

Sasha drags his fingers through his hair. He looks tired. “I can’t, Baby-Bells, I’m stuck here for three days and then I’ve got to go straight back to London. But I’ll see you soon, you’re coming to see me, I’ve got a awesome seats for everyone to watch from, and you can hang out with Nat, and Leonie, too.” 

 

 

After dinner the house quiets down. Everyone else goes home and the kids are tired enough to not be bouncing off the walls. Jacks puts Mavs down for the night and Hank watches as Luc works leave-in conditioner into Bells’ wet hair, and gently dries it with a clean t-shirt. Katya, in pajamas with some kind of green goo spread all over her face and a pore strip on her nose, sits down between Jacks’ legs. She’s been wearing her curls out of braids for the past few months, easier now that her season is over. Jacks laughs as she pushes a tub of hair masque into Jacks’ hands. “Oh, _now_ you don’t want to do it yourself?” 

“I already de-tangled, now my arms are tired,” she whines. “Can you do twists?”

“Will you braid my hair?” Hank asks, eyeing the empty spot on the floor a little enviously when Bells yawns and moves from Luc’s feet to the place next to him on the couch

“Sure, bro, what do you want?” 

“Just two french braids,” Hank says, trying to still look cool and un-fazed, and like he doesn’t really care what his hair looks like. Which is laughable, of course. Hank plays hockey and is a teenage boy. Of course he’s obsessed with his flow. “Like soccer dude braids, not like… little girl braids, okay?” 

Luc just laughs and says, “Braids are just braids, bro, but sure.”

Solemnly, Katya hands Hank the packet of pore strips, and just as solemnly Hank applies one to his nose. 

“Me, too," Bells says from her blanket nest. Hank sighs, rolling his eyes, and takes another one out, turns around and holds one out for Bells. Bells wiggles around in the throw blanket and pushes her face towards him and he makes a face and puts it on her nose, smoothing the edges almost gently, before saying, “Lazy,” and settling back down for Luc to start on his hair.

“Sasha says that his match coming up is really big.” Hank says as Luc makes a part down the middle of his hair. 

“Yeah, it’s a pretty big deal.” Hank’s hair is closer to Luc’s texture than Jacks’ or Crash’s but Luc’s got beauty level braiding skills by now, and even Hank's slippy hair is no match for Luc’s french braids.

“I mean I've seen it on TV and stuff but like… is Wimbledon … if there's not one big final game is it just like playoffs with finale? How do you win all of tennis? Is it best of four?”

“Majors are like… the Stanley Cup final playoff series, except there’s no final tally, it’s just how many individual awards you win.”  
“Non team sports are weird.”

“No argument there," Luc agrees. 

Hank hums and tilts his head while Luc starts braiding the right side. “He says that if he wins he gets a cup, but it’s not as big as the Stanley Cup.”

“Yeah.” 

“Is it as old as the Stanley Cup?” 

“Umm…” Luc says, “Actually I think it’s older.” 

Hank squints at him. “Is it magic too?” 

“I don’t know, dude, we’ll have to ask Sasha.” 

“Mom says she doesn’t think the WSL trophy is magic, but it’s more of a bowl than a cup.” 

Next to him Kayta giggles, “One of us should win something with a plate, then we can have a whole dinner set.” 

“Not it.” Hank huffs. “They give dishes in women’s tennis. Sasha said so. Serena Williams has like eight thousand of them.”

Katya makes a face and leans back against the couch, twisting around Jacks’ legs to poke Bells. “Bells, Hank and I both called Not It, I don’t want to play tennis, you’re going to have to. You’re our only hope.” 

“Gross.” Bells sniffs and closes her eye with an air of finality. “I’m asleep, make Mavs do it.”

“Mavs is a boy, we need a plate.”

“Make Nat do it. Sasha can teach her.” 

Luc squeezes Hank's shoulder and then pats his finished plaits and says, “These are going to be a mess in the morning but I’ll do them again if you want,” and then takes a picture of Hanks’s braids and Katya’s twists, sends it to Crash, texts her “ _we've still got the softest hands in the league over here_ ” 

Crash just sends him back three clapping hand emojis that somehow convey fondness, approval, and a certain level of sarcasm and then, a few seconds later, “give my babies good night kisses for me.” 

 

 

 

“Sundays are exhausting.” Luc yawns when he finally crawls into bed. 

Jacks kisses him. “Or maybe we’re just getting old.” 

“Speak for yourself, Oli. I’m still young and spry.” 

Jacks reaches down and squeezes Luc’s knee in argument and Luc laughs, “Whatever, my knee’s younger than me. It’s practically brand new.” 

Jacks bites Luc’s lip and squeezes Luc’s knee _again_ , hand sliding up his thigh and Luc groans, “Fuck, you still want it?” 

Jacks’ hand travels farther up, fingers trailing along the crease of his groin, just barely brushing against his balls. “I wanted you this morning.”

“I know.” Luc thrusts his hips toward Jacks hand. “You were thirsty for it, fuck--” he gasps as Jacks finally stops fucking teasing and wraps his hand around his cock. “But I thought the whole shattered-door-glass-emergency might have killed the mood.” 

Jacks hums and bites at Luc’s neck. “Did you jerk off in the shower this morning?”

“Yes,” Luc sighs, “Oli, jerk me off, stop fucking around.” 

Jacks bites his neck, “No. I want you to roll over and let me fuck between your thighs, want you to clench around me with those tight fucking ass cheeks of yours while you rub yourself off on the mattress.”

“Oh fuck,” Luc gasps, stomach lurching, balls tightening up, close to coming right then, but Jacks rolls him over, palms his ass cheeks appreciatively, squeezing them, pushing them together, thumb drifting over his hole, pushing through the fabric of hits boxers. “Jacks, we’re gonna fuck up the sheets. I’m too tired to change the sheets.” 

Jacks just laughs and shoves a ridiculously unnecessary and vaguely irritating accent pillow under Luc’s hips. “I thought you were young and spry. Work hard, play hard, Chantal.” He slides Luc’s boxers down his legs, and slaps his ass. “Fuck, look at that. Come on, Chants.” 

Luc hears him stroke his own dick and whines, “Jacks...” 

Jacks pushes around the bedside table, grabs a bottle of massage oil, drizzles it between Luc’s thighs, along his crack, leans over him, rutting his length between Luc’s thighs, between his cheeks. The head of his dick bumps against his balls, sliding against his hole and just catching against the rim and Luc grinds his dick against pillow, humping into it and groaning. As Jacks rocks against him Luc pushes back against him. 

“God, Jacks, put your hand around me--” and finally Jacks’s hand touches him where his dick is slipping against him, presses against the space behind his balls and makes Luc gasp before Jacks slips his hand under his hips and slides his fingers around to rub against Luc’s cock where he’s thrusting into the pillow. It’s enough, just the slip of the oil on his hand, the way his fingers wrap around the base of his dick, thumb still pressing against his balls, and Luc comes. 

“Shit” Jacks mutters and comes after him, spilling between Luc’s thigh. 

“Asshole,” Luc sighs fondly as he scoots out of the wet spot. “Can we finally throw that thing in the trash?” 

“Fuck yes,” Jacks says, collapsing next to him, “why do you think I wanted to ruin it?” 

“You’re getting the washcloth.” Luc says and Jacks doesn’t argue, gets up and comes back with a warm cloth that he swipes over them both before eyeing the pillow Luc’s tossed on the floor. 

“We can’t just leave it there.” 

“Shove it under the bed.” 

“And traumatize Annette when she comes to vacuum? No thanks.” He stares at it for a few more seconds and then pushes it with his toes half way under the bed, “I’ll take it to the trash outside in the morning” he says, like he’s convincing himself. 

“Sure you will.” Luc laughs but doesn’t argue with him and when Jacks slides under the covers, Luc rolls into him so their shoulders are overlapping. “Love you, bro,” he says softly.

Jacks squeezes his hand in response and whispers, “Love you too, Chants.”

The house is quiet, and still, dark now that Jacks has switched the light off and Luc feels himself drifting towards sleep, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. He’s almost there, Jacks’ breath soft and even next to him when suddenly there’s a clatter of what sounds like marbles or beads or some shit on the floor and then a tremendous thump and a muffled cursing and then a crash.  
“Fuck, not again,” Luc groans and Jacks just starts laughing. 

“Ten bucks says Hank was trying to sneak out of the house with the lights off and knocked over that plant thing with the marbles in the bottom in the downstairs hall.” 

“Fifteen says Bells knew he was sneaking out and set up a tripwire.”

“No bet,” Jacks mumbles and switches the light back on.

**Author's Note:**

> Look.... maybe there are already pore strips that you don't have to wet your nose for. I don't know guys. 
> 
> There were questions last time about the younger kids names, so to confirm your theories, yes, Mavs is actually short for Mavericks. Is it a ridiculous name? Very much so. But hey, they could have named him Cloudbreak. Bells name is Bells. It's not Isabel or Isabella or anything, she's named after Bells Beach in Australia. Nat and Leonie are Sveta and Stick's kids. 
> 
> Come find me at superstitionhockey on tumblr!


End file.
